Bringing the Prince Down
by fairyxlucyxdragon
Summary: <html><head></head>Set during WW2. When Alfred, a high ranking special agent for the American intelligence service OSS, was sent to England to spy on Crown Prince Arthur, he really hadn't guessed things would turn out to be this awkward in the end. Eventual USUK. Rated T for Arthur's mouth.</html>


_**Hello **_**_people! So here I am with a new story! I hope you enjoy the read and leave reviews!_**

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><p><em><strong>1942, Virginia<strong>_

Alfred had an urgent meeting. Urgent, as in 'get your fucking ass over here you fucking bastard', so he guessed it was pretty important too, since the OSS was mostly in frantic hurry only when they were out of coffee. In war or not, this was freaking _America_, and the soldiers feared the shortage of caffeine more than being shot by the enemy.

"Hey John, how are the kids doing? Ed, your shoelaces are undone. You look good Ryan, glad you made full a recovery."

He jumped over a huge rock and continued his fast paced walking to the main "headquarters" (underground hideout, but headquarters sounded more heroic) of the American intelligence service.

He had never understood why the government officials had been so adamant on building it _under_ the main camp in Virginia, but he wasn't about to question his heroic President, oh no.

When he arrived, Alfred first paid the kitchen a visit to get a mug of coffee. If this was an urgent meeting, he'd probably need it.

Unfortunately, before he could get his hands on it, he was dragged away by another agent, grumbling about how irresponsible Alfred was.

"I mean, you're a hero an all, but I seriously don't understand why the boss hasn't fired you yet. You're always late, Alfred!"

And then he was tossed inside the boss's office.

Lucky for Alfred, the boss looked like he was in a good enough mood, holding a cigarette between two fingers of his leather clad hand, eyes skimming a newspaper, and uniform sloppily worn.

Alfred coughed.

"You okay, Alfred?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm here, boss?"

"Basically, we're sending you to England to spy for us. You'll be disguised as the bodyguard of the crown prince."

He bit the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from laughing out loud.

"Piece of cake."

It really wasn't.

Maybe Senior Special Agent Alfred F. Jones was the best spy the OSS had, could sink submarines and fly planes, fake a Russian commie bastard accent, and had completed every single mission he had been given perfectly, but his boss still knew that he couldn't handle _British_ royalty as easily as that.

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><p><em><strong>1942, Buckingham Palace<strong>_

Prince Arthur sank into an armchair in defeat.

"You are saying that nothing is for certain?"

The five doctors in the room all looked at each other, wondering if one of them had the guts or not. In the end, the oldest one pinched the ends of his moustache, gulped almost audibly, and turned his face to Arthur.

"Yes, Your Royal Highness."

The poor, poor head doctor of the royal house thought it was all over when Arthur asked the next question.

_There goes my head…I should've prepared a will._

"What exactly is wrong with him, doctor?"

He fiddled with something in his pocket, trying to gather the confidence to get the words out of his mouth.

"We do not know Your Royal Highness," he said, gulping again,

"But with all due respect, it is highly possible that we will be calling you something else soon."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he stood up and calmly walked out of the room.

1…2…3…

The frantic run to his chambers started only after that. He made sure to choose the routes no one except the royal family used, since being seen by the servants while he was running like a little boy wasn't really on his to-do list. It would've been nice if he hadn't run into any of his brothers too, but clearly, luck wasn't on his side.

Allistor, who had probably been walking serenely until that point, was tackled down by Arthur.

Arthur just took a moment to see if anything serious was wrong with his brother before he continued running.

_Click_.

The door was closed.

"GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

He clutched his head between his thin fingers, screaming his lungs out, relieving stress in his own bizarre way.

What the bloody hell was wrong with his father? They had known that the King of England was terminally ill for some time, but Arthur had never even considered the possibility of him dying! Because how was he supposed to tell the citizens that the King, the symbol of their unity, their sovereign, had fallen to a disease while London and almost everywhere in England was being bombed and men were dying at war? How exactly would that go down?

Oh, Arthur knew how. The motivation of his soldiers would drop, the motivation of even the citizens would, and they'd end up losing the war, regardless of the US's interference. Arthur just knew that they would.

Being the crown prince was so, so tiring sometimes. He had been taking care of everything official for the past month, since his father wasn't able to and he was the highest-ranking member of the royal house, but that wasn't even comparable to what his mind had been enduring. He was just so fucking tired of thinking of everything, everyone, every possible outcome. Thinking of _anything_.

Arthur couldn't afford to lose his father yet. Not because _he_ wasn't ready to become king, but because no one _except_ him was.

_Knock_.

Arthur sighed.

"What is it?"

The answer wasn't late.

"Your brother. I'm called Allistor, and I am the Duke of-"

"For heaven's sake Allistor, now is not the time to be making silly jokes!"

"I thought it would help. Mind letting me in?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because."

They stayed silent like that for a while, but Arthur heard the sound of his brother's sitting on the floor.

He absentmindedly opened his cigarette case, took out one of them, and reached for the lighter in his pocket.

_Thud_.

"You dropped your lighter, didn't you?"

Arthur didn't answer, just reached for the silver box.

"I don't understand what you're so worked up about, Arthur."

Arthur exhaled.

"I mean, you've prepared your whole life for this. What is it that could unnerve you this much?"

Sometimes, Arthur just felt like strangling his little brother.

"You know what? It's that we're in a freaking war. And that we're being bombed."

"So? The only thing Father has to do to raise people's motivation is speak about our nation on the telly, or the radio. You could do that."

"Look Allistor, you're not helping."

Arthur could hear the sound of paper being flipped.

"What are you reading?"

"Your letters."

Arthur kicked the door open.

"_Why_ are _you_ reading _my_ letters?!"

"Because you hardly were sober this past week, work has to be taken care of, and I'm the second oldest."

Arthur snatched the letters from him, grumbling something about troublesome little brothers.

"That one's quite interesting though. From America. It says that they are sending one of their elite soldiers to England to be your bodyguard."

"Even those bloody wankers know about father's condition, huh?"

"Seems so."

Arthur sighed again.

"It can't be helped."

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><p><em><strong>So yeah... That's it for the prologue. I'll see if I continue this, and if I do, the chapters will be somewhere between 4k and 8k.<strong>_

**_By the way ALLISTOR=SCOTLAND_**


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